


The Joy of Missing Out

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Smut, Dirty Talk, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Smut, Tinselwank 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Eggsy and Harry’s action-packed Christmas is written off by mission injuries and they have to spend the day in bed.However will they entertain themselves?(I'll give you three guesses, and you won’t need two of them).
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 20
Kudos: 74





	The Joy of Missing Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paxdracona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paxdracona/gifts).



> To dearest darling Pax, with very belated festive wishes. This took far longer than I meant it to and got re-written on the last day but at least you've ended up with something like the fic I meant for you to. 
> 
> May 2021 treat you gently, with kindness and blessings.

The Joy of Missing Out

"Right. I've packed up the board games, the red wine, and our bags. White and sparkling into the cool boxes with the frozen stuff on the day." Eggsy points, for his own benefit, to the bags and boxes as he goes through the list in his head because, wait, where the fuck is the… no, he's got it. Maybe. He's definitely not asking Harry, who is going to be on the naughty list  _ and _ made to wear a  _ Bah, Humbug _ hat if he doesn't get into the spirit. 

"You know, there's absolutely nothing forcing you to execute the entire festive season as though it's a critical Op?" 

"I enjoy it!" He does. Seriously. It's just around about now that he starts to get The Fear about making it all perfect for everyone, like the glittering movie dream time it's meant to be in his head, and that requires precision. "Presents are organised by bag per person inside box per house, then-" 

"Have you been watching Arthur Christmas again?" There's the grin, but then, Harry has got through this afternoon with enough eggnog to start making jokes about how much he enjoys eggnog.  _ Egg _ nog.

"Nah, I'm just saying, if we had the helicopter, we could go to the school’s Christingle, do dinner and midnight mass with your family, be back at my mum's in time for Daisy to open her stocking  _ and  _ make it to your sister's for lunch." 

Harry just lets his head fall forward onto the half written stack of cards. 

***   


Come Christmas eve, Harry and Eggsy do not have the helicopter.

What they do have, between them, is two two broken ribs, an impacted transverse fracture of the tibia, seven new stitches, one real shiner of a black eye and the partridge in the pear tree will have to stay there because all festivities are quite obviously off. 

"I would say your Christmas gallivanting is done for, I'm afraid, my dear," had been Harry's first words to Eggsy when they'd got the X-rays up, but it had been pretty bloody obvious from the splints and braces they'd had him laying in on the way back and more so because it really fucking hurt. Like, Eggsy ain't a doctor but nothing where you can see bones poking out is a good sign; he knew his Christmas plans were out of the window the moment he… well, went out of that window, but it was a better option than staying inside whilst the building blew up.

Thank fuck for an exceptionally well placed giant inflatable snowman. Harry won't be complaining about anyone’s tacky decorations ever again, that’s for sure.

"I could drop things around to your mother's on our behalf?" Harry, sporting the black eye and the stitches, is more capable of the actual present delivery, true, but...

"You can't turn up like that, without me! They’ll think we've had some sort of domestic over the sausage rolls! Christ." It’s a disaster. Less of one, admittedly, than if they hadn’t completed their mission but there’s only one thing for it and Eggsy can barely believe that he’s entertaining it but it’s not like they have any choice: they’re calling in sick to Christmas.

By the time they’ve been cleared to go home and Eggsy is laid down on their bed, he’s just about steeled himself to call his mum, who spends a good five minutes gibbering all the reasons she’s too busy to talk to him - ironically - before he even gets a word in edgeways.

"Yeah, I know, look - but me an' Harry can't come round. I've come down with something rank." He forces a dramatic cough and winces in earnest as it jars his ribs. Bit of a daft move, really. "Harry's got a bug too. Yeah, awful. Both ends." 

He literally only says it to see Harry do his best  _ extremely distinguished and horrendously appalled  _ face with a fractured eye socket and his split lip just about healing. It’s just as hilarious as he hoped, which is fucking stupid n’all with two broken ribs. He wheezes himself calm once he’s off the phone, pops a couple of the really good painkillers and when he wakes up, it’s Christmas morning.

***

Some kind of Christmas morning. No hangover, except he dehydration headache that’s bound to be from sleeping for so long. No toddler kicking him in the shins and shrieking about Santa, and because there’s no gift wrapping being dashed about JB’s snoring on the floor next to the bed rather than skittering about like an asthmatic Taz from Loonytoons decimating every bit of paper he can get his claws into. Eggsy feels like throwing the window open and shouting “ _you there, what day is this?!”_ at whoever’s in the Mews until he goes to swing his legs out of bed and remembers his bollocksed shin, and his ribs - and all the bits in between, actually - and all that comes out is a long, whiny “owwwwww.”

Harry rushes to his aid, of course, because he’s a gentleman like that but after a wobbly approximation of their morning bathroom routine and letting the dog out it’s straight back into bed: it’s plainly obvious they’re fit for fuck all else today.

"Well then,” Eggsy huffs. It's not exactly how he’d planned the day.

"Well then." Harry does not look as put out, but Christmas ain't as much his thing and to be fair it’s hard to tell with his face that bashed up. Eggsy keeps forgetting, because it’s the side that’s away from him in bed, that Harry looks like he’s done ten rounds with The Hulk.

“I suppose I shall fetch us the traditional Bucks Fizz? I do have some presents for you, but I’m afraid I didn’t put together stockings…”

"Stockings! Oh my god." Harry looks blank at him and alright, bear with, Eggsy will get to the point but he’s in the process of realising their change of plans has also thrown out a nice little surprise he’d had in store for Harry. "We always do new PJs on Christmas eve, and yours are downstairs wrapped up and mine… well, I’d got my own and it weren’t pyjamas, put it that way, I had this whole little outfit..."

The shock sharpens and wars with a sweet little expression of consideration as the possibilities and the logistics dawn on Harry at the same time. 

"Weren’t we due to be staying at your mum's?"

"Yep. I was gonna put it on under my clothes before dinner and let you find out at bedtime." 

So what? They’ve got the skills to keep quiet and it would obviously be well worth it for the face Harry is making even  _ thinking  _ about Eggsy tarting around his old bedroom in lingerie, and then the lightbulb pings on above Harry’s head, and explodes. 

"You’d have ended up wearing it...  _ in church? _ !" 

Few things scandalise Harry Hart, so you’ll forgive Eggsy for being a little bit smug that he’s still got it in him. Seeing that spark flame in Harry really does something for him, it’s why he loves to plan dressing up outfits, why he’d woven naughty-but-nice little treats through his festive plans, which have all gone to shit, but... it’s about now Eggsy realises they’ve suddenly found themselves with extended time in bed, with bugger all to do, and that's a lot more interesting than he's given credit for.

“Uhuh. I’ll save it for next time. I mean, I’d offer to get it out now but you'd have to put me in it and that just wouldn't be the same." It really wouldn’t - because the striptease is most of the fun - but he makes eye contact, brushing his hands casually over his lap, so that Harry will have absolutely no choice but to imagine tucking him into lace; to picture rolling fishnet or nylon up Eggsy’s thighs.

Works like a charm. Harry’s gaze is caught, now, glued for a moment to where Eggsy’s trusty morning wood can be made out through the covers before dragging reluctantly up to his face.

"Must you be so tempting whilst I'm under strictest doctor’s orders not to do anything strenuous with my mouth?" 

That won’t be how the doc phrased it, either, with Harry’s reputation.

"The rest of you is in working order though, ain't it?" As in, Eggsy is starting to be able to see from there what fine working order it's in. So he extends eager fingers and goes to turn on his side, to reach for - "Oh shit fuck, my ribs, fuck." It's like being fucking stabbed when he twists. Maybe worse, though it eases off mercifully quickly when he lays back.

“And you ought to be staying as still as you can.” No kidding.

“Well, where’s the fucking fun in that?”

“I’m sure I can bring the fun to you.”

Harry kneels up and leans over to kiss him, all minty fresh and that's wonderful because it’s the first proper snog since they got home and Eggsy is perking up fast, stiffening fully in his reindeer print pyjama bottoms at the promise of laying there like a prince whilst unspecific sexy loveliness unfolds, when Harry pulls away with a sharp grunt, bright red shining from the top suture on his lip.

“Just from kissing? Shit, are you okay?”

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” Harry drugs to dab the wound off with the shoulder of his t-shirt. “But I think we’d better apply the Pretty Woman protocol?”

Eggsy, who has now seen Pretty Woman, gets it: no kissing, which is gonna be weird but it’s alright because it does not stop Harry kneeling over him and paying attention with his hands… until the shift in weight knocks the splint on his leg. He hisses quickly, involuntarily and tries to cover it because fuck that, but Harry is wise to his game.

"Darling…” It sounds like he’s about to suggest something boring and completely unreasonable like stopping, but he doesn’t. He settles back on his own side of the bed carefully, but takes Eggsy’s hand and gently lays it on Eggsy’s own prominent bulge which, considering the pain and frustration of having not only his Christmas plans but now his shag scuppered, is not dwindling in the least. "I think… perhaps it would be best if you take care of yourself.” His voice has taken on that chalky, husky tone that always gets Eggsy hard and he’s needing less and less help with that, not with the way Harry’s looking at him. “I for one would be a very willing audience."

"Willing, yeah?" He knows exactly what that means. He hopes he does.

"Very."

"What about you?" Eggsy manages to shove the duvet off and shuffle the waistband of his pyjamas down so his cock slaps him in the stomach. He doesn’t need telling twice.

"Oh I am quite capable. More decades of practice than I care to recall, and most without nearly the quality of inspiration." Harry’s fingers trail warm and dry down Eggsy’s chest, gone as soon as his body sparkles to it and he’s about to have something to say about that, except when Harry takes his hand away it's to lick his palm and push that same hand down the waistband of his own PJs. 

That, right there, is a direct shortcut to a full body flush of anticipatory pleasure. The thought of Harry getting himself off, in general? God-tier, though Eggsy also kind of likes the idea that it's his job now if at all possible. But he’s got a legitimate sick note, in this case, so he is entitled to sit back and enjoy the view. The little montage his brain just shuffled through of Harry wanking in various scenarios through the ages also doesn't hurt, is worth asking for some choice stories about later but right now it is time to focus on the task at hand. 

As it were. 

And that, apparently, is getting himself off in front of Harry.

Giving himself a few teasing strokes in front of him is one thing. Doing something like this over video is another, although in practice even that’s rarer than they plan for it to be because missions that keep them apart are normally badly planned as far as webcam sex opportunities are concerned. Even so, this feels dirtier, somehow? Harry’s seen Eggsy touch himself, obviously: seen him get himself hard; watched him finish himself off, usually from extreme close up, if you get his drift. But to actually lay next to Harry and just fully have a wank whilst he watches… that’s new and it’s  _ filthy.  _ So filthy it makes Eggsy’s face hot so he knows he’s got to be blushing all the way down his neck, getting fiercer and hotter still when Harry - clearly riveted - passes him the lube. It’s a demand, and an instruction, ad a favour all at once and that little gesture is hot as fucking hell for some reason.

Eggsy is not complaining.  He thanks him only with a nod, and gets to work. He wants to look good, yeah, but trying to put on a show won’t get the job done: the way he’d touch himself as a tease isn’t how he does it when he’s alone and he’s got to drop the pretty touching and posing and let Harry see the real thing. Like this: the way he grips with two fingers below the head and two above the ridge, free to twist and stroke over the tip when he needs that. The way he cups his balls gently with his left hand so they can get a little love too, and his fingertips can just nudge at his taint if that’s what’s going to work for him when he’s really going for the gold. He’s going to need to because this ain’t just Harry being a standard perv, it’s going to be the only sex Eggsy’s having for a while so he might as well make it good for himself.

His hand is hot and slick with lube - which is plenty in itself really considering he hasn’t come since before they left - and just-woken-up is Eggsy’s horny golden hour any time, and rather than stashing himself somewhere for privacy he’s laid out with Harry staring at him like he’s getting to watch a dream unfold whilst he casually jerks himself off exactly however he wants. 

Yeah. It ain’t bad.

Of course the other upshot of this arrangement is that Harry is doing the same right next to him, and it could be vanity but Eggsy feels like that’s a lot more about it being the natural response to watching him get down to it than because it’s just the order of the morning. Harry spares no time for finesse either, hasn’t even pulled his trousers down, and yeah Eggsy could ask him, tell him that fair’s fair and he wants to see but it turns out there really is something to leaving things to the imagination. He knows exactly what Harry’s cock looks like and honestly at this moment can’t think how looking at it properly would be any hotter than seeing the fabric of his pyjama trousers moving with the quick slip of his fist over his cock. 

His own is aching hard now, zinging and throbbing in his hand as he works it, losing track of time with each hot twinge of excitement through his hips. Sometimes watching Harry touching himself, sometimes closing his eyes and just focusing on pleasure, on the right grip and speed and twist to keep the bliss flowing steady down his back into his dick. Sometimes thinking about slipping off into fantasy but honestly, nothing grips him more than squinting his eyes open to watch Harry's hand shuffling urgently in his trousers or looking at his face whilst he does it. Bruising regardless, he looks fucking gorgeous in that weird half grimace everyone does when they’re getting off.

Because oh yes, he’s getting there, his eyes tracking hungrily over Eggsy’s body and drinking in the sight of him, leaning close enough that they’re breathing each other's air Eggsy can feel him panting. When their eyes meet, Harry moans. He’s close already, Eggsy can practically taste that on him from here and if he’s  _ that _ into watching Eggsy masturbate he really could have said, like, at any time. It ain’t exactly a hardship. And being looked at like this while he’s doing it? That don’t hurt neither, and Eggsy has clearly not spent nearly enough time watching, picturing or even thinking about Harry wanking because he’s just fucking stunning, even with his face all squinty and slack and screwed up with pleasure:  _ especially  _ then, and they could make this a two player sport a lot more fucking often.

Eggsy's hand speeds up, grips tighter, a little drier than he’d like now but he's not willing to interrupt his view of Harry coming over watching him for anything, and the sight of him getting more into it obviously helps Harry along. Harry’s mouth is open, his jaw grits, eyes closed for the last second and that's it, that's Harry getting off to Eggsy getting off and its fucking beautiful. 

It’s so beautiful Eggsy’s pretty surprised when he gets all the way through to staring at the wet patch soaking through Harry’s pyjama bottoms and isn’t in the same state himself, though he’s so turned on, his body so keyed up, his cock so sensitive he can barely stand to keep going. He swallows a mouthful of spit and breathes deep for the final push, and it comes out as a groan.

Harry tentatively touches Eggsy on the chest, face dazed and full of wonder, giving him a chance to speak up if it catches any of his injuries but it doesn’t, it feels fucking good, that brush of dry fingertips over his nipple making his nerves sing. When he doesn’t pull away Harry twists at his nipple, rolls it, pinches until it aches and Eggsy can feel it in his balls.

“Oh, yeah.” That’s what he needs. Performance anxiety’s not the problem, his knob just hasn’t worked out why Harry is  _ right there _ and he’s not getting any of that, and a little tweak of the tits is apparently enough to get him properly going.

“Yes? You like that? You want more?” 

"Please."

"Oh, that's a good boy. So polite even when you're desperate to get off."

“Mmmhmm.” Eggsy’s jaw’s too tense to speak. If it weren’t for the distraction of his ribs and the muzziness in his head he’s sure he’d have come when Harry did, if not sooner, so he’s properly aching for it now. His back’s sweating but he can’t writhe around without hurting himself, which probably ain’t helping. It’s like being tied down. Tied up, with Harry touching him however he wants...with Harry making him touch himself, and watching…

“ _ Fuck-”  _ he practically spits it out but fuck, it feels so good, he’s so close it almost hurts but he just can’t quite - "I'm sorry, I dunno why I'm… I think it's the painkillers.."

"Oh, you don't apologise to me." That carries a lovely sort of threat that makes Eggsy’s good knee go wobbly. It’s … got a touch of Marlin about it, somehow, but he’s absolutely not going to think about that right now; the grip on his nipple sharpens, anyway, and smashes anything like thought right out of Eggsy’s head. “You just keep doing what I asked. For as long as it takes. And letting me watch, and letting me touch you.”

Because that is what he needs, Harry playing with his body like he owns it, Harry looking at him sprawled out and tossing himself off and loving the view so much he’s already come from it, so he's only talking like that, giving him all that _good boy_ shit because he knows it turns Eggsy's crank but hell, it works. Harry’s hand wanders down to trace a drop of sweat - or it might even be precome - from the edge of Eggsy’s bellybutton and Eggsy  _ whines. _

“That’s it, are you getting close?”

"Yes. Fuck, yes." He is. Closer by the second. He’s working his cock so fast his wrist is aching but that hot fizzy feeling is filling him up until he’s brimming with it and he knows Harry can tell from the way he's leaning in to wait for it, leaning in to tweak at Eggsy's other nipple and breathe hot into his ear. 

“Beautiful. I can’t wait to watch that." Fingertips trail up to Eggsy's lips and he welcomes them without even thinking about it. Sucking greedily on Harry's fingers, licking between them, wanting to remind him just how willing and good he is, what he'll do for him. Anything. "You're nearly there, aren't you? That's it, darling. Come for me?"

It still takes him a minute because he has to keep totally still - it canes when he curls his toes and he can’t breathe too deeply because of his ribs, he has to lay relaxed save for the arm he’s jerking off with and his other hand clutching at Harry’s wrist, keeping him there, fucking Eggsy’s mouth with his fingers and murmuring encouragement Eggsy doesn’t even hear once orgasm finally breaks over him, sharp and dizzying. But god, he needs it, that fast thunder of blissful relief though his whole body so wonderful he barely registers the pulsing of his cock until there's a slick white puddle on his stomach.

Harry, in classic Harry fashion, waits until Eggsy has breathlessly milked the very last drops out to take his hand away and kiss his knuckles, and they lock eyes, trembling and lost for words for a lovely little moment until it's interrupted by a high pitched squeaking honk from downstairs.

What the fuck?

"Ah. I gave Mister Bauer one of his presents to unwrap. To keep him... occupied..."

Eggsy just stares, so utterly torn between _you bought presents, plural, for the dog_ and _you wrapped presents for the dog_ and _you gave the dog a giftwrapped squeaky whateverthefuck so you could get your end away in peace_ and the fact he's still floating down from coming his brains out that he doesn't say anything at all. Just gawps.

"Anyway. Whilst I go get myself some clean pyjama trousers, I may as well put some food on. We weren't anticipating meal times so we mostly have canapés. Pigs in blankets. Stuffing balls. Some vol au vents…”

“Why are you saying that like it doesn’t sound the best plate of food ever?” Eggsy realises a beat too late he's missed the window for the _stuffing balls_ punchline but he'll blame the painkillers which also, now Harry has mentioned festive junk food, have given him the major munchies, and suddenly his derailed day just sounds like heaven. “You about to complain that all we’ve got to wash it down with is Champagne?”

Harry gives him a shrug that lovely droll half smile although, to be fair, Eggsy isn't sure the swelling actually allows for a whole one.

"Well, it wasn't quite the Christmas you had planned..."

"Fuck it. You're in charge of the planning now." Eggsy tries to roll onto his side to watch as Harry stands and heads for the bedroom door but that's a _spectacularly_ bad idea. "We can always have a game of Monopoly if you feel like we're gonna miss out. Strip Monopoly?"

After a stern looking hesitation, Harry pushes his wet trousers off quite seriously, and peels his sleep shirt up over his head. God, but he's fit, and the sudden exposure of that broad chest makes Eggsy fully forget what he's looking so serious about.

"I absolutely promise we can spend the entire day naked if you don't make me play Monopoly."

"Done." Absolutely done and done, and not just because Eggsy uses his vest to mop the jizz out of his lap. Harry takes his clothes from him for the laundry and look, never mind his age, that man's arse is a fucking marvel and Eggsy is grateful, in absence of being able to run around like a festive chicken all day, to be in one piece and to spend it eating, drinking and making merry in whatever ways they can manage with such _fine_ company.

"And bring up the presents!" he calls down. "Especially the little bag that's in my overnight case!"

And, he's just remembered those. A couple of those might just help them pass the time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!   
> Your comments give me life, and gods know I need it round about now! I am gradually working my way through and making sure I've answered everyone who's been kind enough to leave me their thoughts.
> 
> You are also invited to join me for fandom fun, occasional RL interest and horny nonsense on   
> [twitter ](https://www.twitter.com/agentsnakebite) and [ tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/randomactsofviolence) !


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